I finished a draft of a novel in the winter of 2019 for my MFA thesis. My professor gave some kind notes about how I could work more on character arc and cultural nuances. Shortly after graduation, I gave birth to my second child. I shoved the manuscript away, burying myself deep into parenting. When the pandemic hit, I struggled to keep afloat with an infant and a toddler. When I realized my toddler was going to stay home longer than I wanted, I dusted off my manuscript and faced it again.
I worked sporadically for the next three years, reassuring myself I was close to the finished draft. In the summer of 2022, I emailed a mentor, saying I hoped to finish the revision in the next four months. She replied, “You’re planning to revise five to six chapters a week? You’re my mentor. You’re everybody’s mentor.”
I still hear her laughter in that email. It crushed me. Though I didn’t appreciate her choice of words, I discovered three summers later: She was right. I ended up rewriting the entire book.